God
is good like the sorrows of the morning marinara sky Where
weirs drift apart and undue times collide Humble
abodes trees of figment figurations I
in the woodchopper there can be no more half of half ghost writer
talks in his sleep split the mismerie/mise of agitation wonders of
the tree fig known world harrier attack the bombers are coming this
is no portent visage of hair can you feel me I am slipping through
the hairs of oblivion no time to talk only listen look there is a
voice of hatred I see a star of skies pale with wonder museum of
accost grooming kit sword of abolition dissolution there can be only
one winner
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